The Birth of a Friendship
by GorensGirl
Summary: If he hadn't been bored one weekend.... A dramatization of the story of how House and Wilson met, as told in Birthmarks. Yeah, I know it'll probably be done more than once. Non-slash. Major spoilers for Birthmarks S5E4 .
1. Chapter 1

**Birth of a Friendship  
**_by Z.E. Grockle_

Notes: A dramatization of the story of how House and Wilson met, as told in Birthmarks. Therefore, there are major spoilers for that episode. Right now, I'm thinking it'll be a two-shot, but I might add an epilogue as a third chapter. Anyway, this chapter is in House's point-of-view, the next will be Wilson's.

Disclaimer: Yeah, I wish...

--

Greg House was beginning to doubt his career choice. Certainly, being a genius doctor was great for getting people to need you, but if he had to attend one more convention like this one, forget it. _Monster truck drivers seem to have a lot of fun,_ he mused. _Probably get laid more, too._

He had hoped that after a day of mind-blowingly dull lectures, the other doctors would want to cut loose a bit at this "cocktail mixer." Maybe someone would get drunk and sing karaoke. But no, instead they stood in pretentious groups and discussed the lectures they had attended. If this kept up, he might decide to sing himself. Well, at least there was alcohol.

He made his way through a gap in the crowd and found the punch table. There was a small line, and as he waited he noticed a guy standing against the wall a few feet away. He was young, probably still on his residency, and he was holding a large envelope, turning it over and over and studying it so carefully that it might have been a letter bomb. The look on his face was something close to despair. House's natural curiosity was raised. Finally, here was a puzzle to work on, something to take the edge off the boredom. He went to move closer, but a group walked between him and the kid, and when they cleared away, the younger man had gone. House quickly scanned the room with his eyes, trying to find him again, and when he couldn't, he sighed in frustration and turned back to the punch bowl. _Dammit, _he thought, resigning himself to a night of boredom.

The next afternoon, House walked into the only lecture he had any interest in attending, and to his delight spotted the kid from the mixer sitting next to the aisle on the end of the second row. The seats were filling up quickly, but there was still an open one on the left side of the young doctor, and House made a beeline for it. He sat down casually and pulled out his pad and pen to take notes, glancing at the other man's desk as he did so. Yep, there was the envelope again. The majority of it was covered by the kid's own notepad, but he could see the edge of it poking out from underneath. And here was something even more interesting: it wasn't opened. _He's been carrying it around with him since yesterday, but he hasn't opened it yet?_

The lecture started, and much as House had been looking forward to it, he found he couldn't give it his full attention. He wanted - no, _needed_ - to know what was in that envelope. Time for some distraction. He picked up his pen and twirled it idly for a few moments before giving a little flick of his fingers, which sent it arching nicely out of his hand to land in the aisle on the other side of the kid. The younger man looked down at the writing implement that had just soared past him in some surprise, but obligingly bent over to pick it up, giving House just enough time to pull the edge of the envelope out far enough to read the return address, and push it back in before the other man straightened up and handed him the pen. House nodded his thanks and carefully wrote the address on his pad. It was a law firm in New York. _Malpractice suit?_ he wondered. Well, a couple of phone calls and he could find out what the firm specialized in. With some skill, he might even be able to get details of the case.

Half an hour after the lecture had ended, House hung up his room phone with some disappointment. No juicy malpractice suit; the firm specialized in divorce cases. And while that explained the young doctor's behavior, it certainly wasn't nearly as interesting. Taking his own parents' marriage and the fact that he'd never even remotely had the urge to get hitched as examples, House naturally expected most, if not all, marriages to be miserable failures, even if neither party would admit to it. _The kid's a little young to be ending his first one, _he thought. _Maybe he's hoping to fit a few more in before he dies_. Smiling cynically at his own joke, he decided to skip the mixer tonight and go to the hotel's bar. He grabbed his wallet as he headed out the door, thinking perhaps things would be more lively there.

--

Notes: Expect the next chapter tonight or sometime tomorrow. In the meantime, I'd really appriciate reviews. They make my day.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Birth of a Friendship  
**_by Z.E. Grockle_

--

James Wilson was halfway through his third gin and tonic when he heard the familiar opening notes. _Oh, great,_ he thought. He'd come to drown his sorrows, not be reminded of them. _I knew it was a bad idea to let her pick our song_. He finished off the drink in two gulps and motioned for another, trying to block out Billy Joel's voice. As the bartender pushed a new glass in front of him, he transferred his attention back to the envelope, carefully picking at one edge of the flap without actually opening it.

It was stupid, he knew. It wasn't as though the damn thing was holding any surprises. They'd been growing more and more distant over the last few months, and his affair and subsequent confession had pretty much sealed the deal. Still, he couldn't bring himself to read it in black and white. To know that he'd screwed up that badly, and to face letting her go, was more than he could handle right now.

He felt his eyes sting as the song came to an end, but was grateful that at least he hadn't collapsed in sobs on the bar. There was a moment of blessed silence, and then... _Unbelievable, _he thought, turning to see a balding, middle aged man standing in front of the jukebox. The lyrics started all over again, and he slid off his bar stool and made his way over only a bit unsteadily. He tapped the guy on the shoulder.

"Yeah, what do you want?"

"Sorry, it's just, could you play a different song next time? This one reminds me of someone I'd rather not think about right now."

"Well, sucks to be you, don't it? I'll play what I damn well want."

"Um.. look, there's plenty of other songs on this thing. Probably lots of others by Billy Joel, even. I'm just asking if you wouldn't mind not playing this one. You've already heard it once."

"Yeah, I would mind. Got a problem with that?"

James gave it up as hopeless, figuring he'd be better off just waiting for the song to be over. He made it back to his bar stool just as it ended, and gave a sigh of relief.

"Now, because _some people_ can't let a person enjoy a good song, I'm going to play that one again!" announced the guy from behind him. James wasn't the only person who groaned.

He made it through the third rendition with the help of another gin and tonic, but when the melody began to repeat again, he'd had enough.

"Lay off the song, already!" he shouted over his shoulder.

"Just for that, I'm going to play it again after this!" came the reply.

"Oh, come on!"

"I've got twenty bucks to spend. I can do this all night, buddy. You don't like it, you can just go somewhere else!"

"Can't you do something about that?" James appealed to the bartender.

"Sorry, man. He's allowed to play what he wants."

James snarled and began to pick at the envelope more viciously than ever. He would just go to another bar, but he was already quite drunk, and the logistics of getting somewhere else and then back to his hotel seemed like too much at the moment. The music faded out and, sure enough, began again. _Alright, that is it!_

The bartender had set down a bottle of bourbon a few feet in front of him as he waited on another customer. James reached for it, and -

SMASH!

His jaw dropped as he stared in shock at the shattered mirror. _I didn't know I was going to do that..._

--

Notes: Okay, this is going to be longer than I thought.. next chapter will be from House's POV, I think. Reviews?


	3. Chapter 3

**The Birth of a Friendship  
**_by Z.E. Grockle_

Notes: Thanks for all the alert adds. I do prefer reviews, but it's nice to know people are waiting for this, anyway.

--

House wasn't sure what exactly made him do it. Part of it was because the guy's actions had been wholly unexpected. He looked so _innocent_. He'd been surprised enough to hear him shout across the bar, though given the song, he could understand what made the younger man do it. Picking up a bottle and chucking it at the mirror made no sense. It posed more danger to the bartender than the Billy Joel lover, and yet it managed all the same to stop the incessant repetition of the song. Okay, so it did that by inadvertently starting a bar fight in which the jukebox was smashed as completely as the mirror, but still_._ It made him wonder what else the kid would do if he got drunk enough.

Part of it was the envelope. Sending someone divorce papers while they were on a semi-vacation was the cold action of a bitter woman, and yet he couldn't bring himself to open them. Something about that appealed to House. And if he was honest with himself, the last part was simply because he felt sorry for the kid. Boring lectures, divorce papers, and getting arrested in one weekend had to suck.

For whatever reason, House found himself shelling out five hundred dollars, cash, plus an extra two-fifty for the lawyer, and following a cop down the hallway of a precinct to the holding cells.

"Hey, Billy Joel," the cop said, motioning to the young doctor, who was sitting on the floor inside the cell with his back against the wall. "You made bail."

His forehead crinkled as he got slowly to his feet. "What about the charges?" he asked.

"I took care of it," House said. The other man just looked more confused.

"Who're you?"

"Greg House." He stuck his hand through the bars, and the younger man hesitantly shook it.

"James Wilson. Do I know you?"

"Nope. Why throw it at the mirror? Seems like an idiotic thing to do."

"I... wasn't really thinking. If I don't know you, why'd you pay my bail?" he asked as the cop opened the cell and let him walk out.

"You looked like someone I could drink with. Here's a card for your lawyer," he said.

Wilson looked at it and then slowly put it in his pocket. "You paid for a lawyer so you could have someone to drink with?"

House sighed. It seemed the kid wasn't going to drop that, and he really didn't want to give the other man the false impression that he, House, was a nice guy. Luckily, he was saved from further explaining his actions by the cop, who interrupted.

"You better not be doing any more drinking tonight, gentlemen. A patrol car will take you back to your hotel. The bar's closed, and if we have to haul you in here again, those lawyer's fees are going to skyrocket."

House rolled his eyes at the empty threat, but Wilson didn't look like he would last much longer, anyway. He was leaning against the cell bars with the lethargic air of someone about to pass out. Sure enough, by the time they got back to the hotel and up to his floor, the younger man was dead on his feet.

"Where's your room card?" House asked him. Wilson rummaged through the bag of possessions the cops had given back to him and came up with the plastic card, which he passed over. House guided him inside by his arm, and in the general direction of the bed, then watched as the young doctor collapsed on it face-down. He pocketed the card and shut the lights off on his way out.

_There's always tomorrow_.

--

Notes: This is where we depart from the "official" story, as given in Birthmarks. Stay tuned for the next day, through the eyes of Wilson.


End file.
